Paint Night
by Dani-Ellie03
Summary: "We should do a little Paint Night right here!" Henry's suggestion was met with three blank stares from the former denizens of the Enchanted Forest. Emma, on the other hand, heaved a soft sigh. Just as she thought: cheese central. David was the one who managed to ask the question first. "What on earth is a Paint Night?" (or, art lessons with the Charming Family and Captain Swan)
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Paint Night  
 **Summary:** "We should do a little Paint Night right here!" Henry's suggestion was met with three blank stares from the former denizens of the Enchanted Forest. Emma, on the other hand, heaved a soft sigh. Just as she thought: cheese central. David was the one who managed to ask the question first. "What on earth is a Paint Night?"  
 **Spoilers:** Up through 4x11, "Heroes and Villains."  
 **Characters:** Emma, Snow, Charming, Henry, and Killian.  
 **Rating/Warning:** K+, mostly for Emma's mouth. Charming Family and Captain Swan bonding/ridiculousness. As per usual, please keep your toothbrush nearby.  
 **Disclaimer:** _Once Upon a Time_ and its characters were created by Eddie Kitsis and Adam Horowitz and are owned by ABC. I'm just playing in someone else's sandbox.  
 **Author's Note:** I have literally no clue where this plotbunny came from but it quickly became the latest in my series of "Things the Charming Family Never Got to Do So They're Doing Now ... With Bonus Captain Swan." Here be silliness and fun and bonding and don't worry, everyone will have a turn leading the class. I've also already had a really rough week so please do me a favor and leave some feedback because hearing from y'all really does boost my spirits. Enjoy! :)

* * *

"Are you comfortable, love?" Killian Jones softly asked Emma Swan as the two of them relaxed on the sofa in the apartment.

"Very," she replied, a content smile on her lips.

It had been three weeks – three glorious, peaceful weeks – since there had been a fairy-tale emergency in the surprisingly-not-at-all-sleepy seaside town of Storybrooke, Maine. There had still been little emergencies every now and again, of course. Even in a town Storybrooke's size, petty crime and fender benders still occurred. However, it had been a full twenty-one days since any of the citizenry had had to run from a fairy tale villain.

Emma could not have been more thrilled.

The first few days, she had been somewhat afraid to let her guard down. Life in Storybrooke had never been calm, after all, even before the Curse was broken and everyone remembered the truth. Emma hadn't trusted the newfound peace at first and had instead braced herself for the inevitable dropping of the other shoe.

But Gold's banishment from town had in fact ushered in peace, and now … well, Emma wanted nothing more than to revel in it.

She spent her days at the station with her father, both sheriffs catching up on the massive backlog of paperwork that the constant running after villains had left them. She spent her evenings either with Killian – going to dinner, walking hand-in-hand down by the harbor, sitting on a bench under the stars – or with her family at home, where Killian was quickly becoming a fixture.

He always stayed late into the evening at her request, much to her father's overprotective annoyance. (Not that he didn't like Killian; it was just that he very much thought like a _dad_. On the one hand, Emma got annoyed when he like, cleared his throat if he thought Killian was getting a little too close. On the other hand, her dad was trying in his own way to protect her and she found it kind of sweet. Frustrating, yes, but sweet.)

Killian would only take his leave on those evenings at the apartment when they both began doing more yawning than talking. And then in the mornings, he'd meet up with her, a waiting cup of cocoa or coffee for each of them at the ready. She'd walk with him as far as the library, where he and Belle worked feverishly to find a way to free the fairies from the hat, and then they'd both go their separate ways for the next eight or so hours.

This particular evening was a home evening. Snow and David were in their room, trying to settle a fussy Neal down for the night. For reasons unknown to everyone in the apartment, the little Prince of Crankiness was fighting his impending bedtime with everything in his little body.

Killian was seated on the sofa with Emma, who was stretched out across it with her back against the arm and her feet in Killian's lap as she fiddled with a game on her phone. Henry was lying on the floor on his stomach, and both he and Killian were doodling in sketchpads.

The sketchpads were new. Emma had bought them for her boys after the first week of peace. "Looks like the two of you should have some time to practice now," she'd said when she presented them with their little gifts. The identical way their eyes had lit up was both _adorable_ and all the gratitude she'd needed.

Emma kept half her attention on her various family members and half on her game. From the sound of it, the little squirt was finally starting to lose his battle with the sleep monster; his whines were getting softer with more time in between them. Good, that meant her parents would be able to relax soon.

In the living room, there were only the sounds of the colored pencils rubbing against paper and the soft music from Emma's game.

She was just trying to figure out where the hell in the room she was trying to escape that she hadn't checked for a clue yet when Henry let out a frustrated huff. "What's the matter?" she asked, frowning down in frustration of her own in the form of a cellphone app.

"I can't get the hand right," Henry answered, his tone equal parts aggravated and dejected.

"May I take a look, lad?" Killian asked as he set aside his own pencil and paper.

Henry handed the sketchpad up to Killian with a sigh. Emma watched with a touched smile as Killian appraised the drawing, and she couldn't help but lean forward so she could see the sketch as well. Apparently her kid had been using nursery rhymes as inspiration because he'd drawn two young kids, a boy and a girl, standing at a well on the top of a hill.

The drawing was _good._ Emma flicked her gaze from the drawing and looked at Henry, a proud smile on her face. His father's talent and the occasional help from Killian were certainly combining to turn him into quite the not-so-little-anymore artist.

After a moment or two of careful consideration, Killian returned the sketchpad to Henry. "This is very good, Henry, but I see where you're having trouble. Try to keep your lines for the girl's hand a little more fluid. Her fingers should be a little rounder."

Henry nodded and got to work attempting to fix the piece. As far as Emma was concerned, it hadn't needed fixing at all but Henry clearly disagreed. After a little bit more sketching with the colored pencil, he grinned up at Killian. "That worked! Thanks!"

Killian smiled as well. "You're welcome, lad."

He happened to glance over at Emma before returning his attention to his own drawing, and she gave him a touched smile. He smiled back, nodding half-teasingly, half-reverently.

Emma set her phone down, content now to watch her two favorite boys concentrate on their artwork. Frankly, the simple fact that they could draw realistic people at all fascinated her. She hadn't done much painting outside of art classes in school but even then, she'd much preferred landscapes. She'd always found people and animals inordinately difficult.

As she watched, the baby whimpering from the other room finally came to a stop. Her little brother must have finally given up the fight. Sure enough, her mother and father emerged from the bedroom moments later with sighs of relief. Aside from keeping an ear out for the monitor, their parenting-a-baby duties were done for the time being and now they could relax with everyone else.

As they approached the armchairs, Snow looked down at Henry's drawing and gasped in surprise. "Henry, that's beautiful!"

"Thanks," Henry said, grinning up at his grandmother. "Killian helped."

"I merely gave the lad a suggestion as to line placement," Killian said, self-deprecatingly shrugging off Henry's compliment. "The work is all the lad's own."

"I still think you both have incredible talent," Emma spoke up as her parents sank down in the armchairs opposite the sofa, clearly grateful for the opportunity to relax. "I sure as hell can't do what you two are doing right now."

Henry's drawing was of Jack and Jill going up the hill. A glance at Killian's revealed his to be of two small figures – a woman with long blonde hair and a dark-haired pirate with a hook for a hand – climbing a giant beanstalk. Her heart did a little flip-flop in her chest when she realized he'd been drawing the beginning of their adventure together.

"You probably could with practice, love," Killian said softly. "I've seen artwork of yours before and it's clear that you have talent."

Emma frowned at him. When the hell had he seen her artwork? Unless he was counting the doodles on her desk blotter at the station.

"That's true, Emma," David said softly. He paused, clearly debating whether or not to give her the little reminder. Ultimately, he did. "There were paintings from your art class in Ingrid's file."

Oh, right. She gave her father a little smile to let him know that his bringing up Ingrid was all right. She was still a touchy subject, and Emma still wasn't sure how she felt about her. On the one hand, what Ingrid had done to her and Elsa and Anna was wrong – so very wrong. But on the other hand, Ingrid had loved her … and at one point in time, she'd loved Ingrid.

It was all so very confusing.

Despite her conflicting feelings for the woman, Emma had eventually shown her parents the file Ingrid had kept of her school work. They'd cried, of course … cried for the time they'd missed and the moments they'd never share. But they'd also adored the glimpse into their little girl's childhood, adored having some of those blank spaces filled in through tangible evidence like art projects and tests and essays.

(The only thing Emma had removed before handing the file over was the greeting card thanking Ingrid for being the family she'd never had. Going through that folder was going to be hard enough for her parents; she'd had no desire to make it any harder than it had to be.)

"Ooh, you know what we should do?" Henry asked, sitting up straight. His eyes were sparkling in just the right way to make Emma swallow a groan. He'd come up with an _idea_. In just a moment, he was going to put forth one of his family bonding ideas that simultaneously made Emma groan from the cheese and want to hug him for thinking of it.

He'd done it with board games. He'd done it with backyard camping. He'd done with meteor showers and weapons lessons and movie marathons. What the hell was he going to suggest now?

From the grin on Snow's face, it seemed that she, too, knew at least the broad strokes of what Henry had in mind. "What's that?"

"We should do a little Paint Night right here!"

His suggestion was met with three blank stares from the former denizens of the Enchanted Forest. Emma, on the other hand, heaved a soft sigh. Just as she thought: cheese central.

David was the one who managed to ask the question first. "What on earth is a Paint Night?"

"Henry and I did them a few times in New York," Emma explained since Henry was too busy boggling at how someone could not know what a Paint Night was. "It's pretty much like a one-off art class. There's an instructor who teaches you brushstroke by brushstroke how to paint a picture. Because of the way the class is taught, you don't even really need any kind of artistic talent to do it."

Henry must have finally gotten over his shock because he added, "Yeah, and we can do one here! Killian can teach it!"

It just so happened that Killian had put his flask to his lips when Henry dropped that little bombshell. He spluttered on his sip of rum, leading an amused Snow to tell him, "Arms up."

"What the hell does raising your arms do for choking?" Emma asked. Not that Killian was actually choking but that wasn't the point.

"It's a grandmother thing," Snow shrugged.

Still somewhat in shock, Killian quickly raised his arms over his head to satisfy Snow's grandmotherly instruction. The stunned look on his face struck Emma as extremely comical. "I don't know, lad–" he started.

"Oh, Killian, please? You're a great teacher! And it's just for fun anyway. Please?"

"Okay, before Killian gets us all to recite 'O Captain! My Captain!'" Emma spoke up, "do we even have art supplies?"

Nobody understood her joke, making her sigh. Someday she really needed to show her family _Dead Poets Society_.

Snow arched an eyebrow at her. "You're forgetting, darling daughter, that I have a plastic tub filled with twenty-eight years' worth of art supplies purchased for an elementary school classroom. I'm sure we can find some paper and paints."

"I'm game," David said. He was of course interested in the activity but he couldn't quite hide his smirk at Killian's discomfort.

"So am I," Snow added a bit unnecessarily. Since she was offering up her art supplies, it was a safe bet that she was interested in a family Paint Night. Unlike her husband, though, her excitement seemed to be stemming solely from the idea of painting with her family.

"That's two votes," Henry recapped, "and I make three. What about you, Mom?"

She glanced from Henry's pleading face – he wasn't quite at Puppy Dog Eyes level but he could get there fast – to Killian's still somewhat panicked one. She'd enjoyed Paint Nights with Henry in New York and frankly, the idea of Killian leading her family in one made her heart race. He was a good teacher – she'd picked up a lot working with him on her technique with the sword – and something about the idea of him teaching her family how to paint a picture was hitting her right in the emotional sweet spot.

"So, pirate," she said by way of an answer to Henry's question, giving Killian her best pleadingly flirting glance, "do you do landscapes?"

In an instant, Killian's expression changed from one of surprised nervousness to amused confidence. Oh, there was no way he was turning this down, not with Emma giving him the I'll-make-it-worth-your-while eyes. "Aye, lass. As a matter of fact, I think I know the exact painting to start us off. Who wants to learn to paint a wooded island as it appears from a ship's deck?"

Henry grinned in delight. Snow and David shared a touched smile. Emma leaned forward and kissed Killian's cheek. "There's more where that came from later," she whispered so no one else could hear, smiling when a blush colored her pirate's cheeks.

"I'll go get the supply tote," Snow said, grinning as she pushed herself to her feet.

Charming Family Paint Night was officially about to begin.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note:** Y'all remain awesome! Thank you for the reviews and follows and favorites! Here be the next part. :)

* * *

Snow emerged from the bedroom with the kind of careful silence only the mother of a sleeping baby could manage, a green plastic tote in her hands. It was one of those big suckers meant for storing Christmas decorations or out-of-season clothes, the kind people stacked up in basements and attics and wrote things like "Old School Papers" on the lids with Sharpie. And Emma knew from previous experience that the big green tote in her mother's hands was chock-full of every classroom art supply one could possibly imagine.

Sure enough, when Snow set the tote down on the floor and removed the lid, it looked as if a Michaels had thrown up in the tote. There were boxes of crayons and colored pencils lying among packages of markers and pads of construction paper. Loose sheets of stickers lay next to glue sticks – oh so many glue sticks – and little plastic vials of glitter.

It was underneath a few sheets of what Emma could only assume was scrapbook paper that she found the multiple sets of acrylic paints. Real sets, too, not those little pots of paint that were connected to each other by plastic strips. Another second or two of digging turned up plenty of brushes, multiples in each size and style.

Just when Emma thought they were going to have to paint their ocean scenes on construction paper, Henry unearthed a sketchpad filled with heavy, textured paper. A relieved Snow smiled at her assembled family members. "It looks like we do in fact have everything we need."

"We can work at the kitchen table," David said through a smile of his own.

Emma flicked her gaze to Killian, who nodded. The kitchen table was indeed the best place to set up; they all could comfortably fit around it and he'd be close enough to monitor everyone's progress. "Sounds perfect," Killian said. "Thank you for the use of your supplies."

As David cleared off the table, Emma and Henry headed to the kitchen to fill plastic Solo cups with rinse water for their brushes. Killian tore five sheets of paper out of the sketchpad and set them out on the table while Snow reached into the cabinet and withdrew paper plates for her family to use as palettes.

With rhree half-filled plastic cups in hand, Emma returned to the table and was surprised to find Killian kneeling on the floor in front of the plastic tote. She set the cups down beside a sheet of paper before approaching her pirate and plopping down on the floor beside him. The expression of wonder on his face at the sheer abundance of art supplies struck her as ridiculously adorable. "If I'd known you'd be so interested in a bunch of kiddie art supplies, I would have had Mom show you this sooner."

He smiled up at her, a faint flush of pink coloring his cheeks. In his hand was a package of scented markers. "I've never seen some of these coloring implements before."

Sometimes Emma forgot that he hadn't grown up with the stuff of her childhood, things like markers and construction paper and Crayola crayons. He'd probably never seen a marker at all, never mind one that boasted a lab-created fruit fragrance when the cap was removed.

She smiled back and slipped the markers from his hand. She opened the box, withdrew the purple marker, uncapped it, and held it out to her pirate. "Take a sniff."

A single eyebrow quirked up in Killian's trademark incredulous look but he did as she instructed without a word of argument. After one whiff, the skepticism on his features was replaced with bewilderment. "Why in blazes does this coloring pen smell like imitation grapes?"

Emma managed to swallow her chuckle but Henry laughed out loud. "Because kids like things that smell like other things," he informed Killian.

With a wink at her husband, a grinning Snow approached the tote and dug around in it until she found a pad of stickers. She handed the pad over to Killian and said, "Scratch one of these stickers with your fingernail and then smell it."

Though he was clearly still perplexed, Killian once again did as instructed, dragging the nail of his index finger over a sticker shaped like a strawberry. Emma, her parents, and Henry all watched with amusement as Killian brought the pad to his nose. "Now this piece of paper smells like imitation strawberries," he said a touch unnecessarily.

Everyone swallowed snickers. "Yeah, that's the idea," Emma reminded him.

"And children in this land really find this amusing?"

Emma nodded. "Are you kidding? Getting a scratch and sniff sticker back on my paper was always a hundred times better than getting a regular sticker." Out of the corner of her eye, Emma saw her parents share a little smile at her admission. Both of them were now undoubtedly imagining her as a little girl, happily scratching and sniffing a congratulatory sticker on her schoolwork.

When Killian remained dubious, Henry nodded his agreement. "Scratch and sniff stickers are the best."

"I'll take your word for it," Killian said, once again making everyone swallow chuckles.

"You know what we should do before settling down to paint?" Henry asked as Emma and Killian stood up, halting the inspection of the art supplies in favor of moving their evening along a little bit.

The adults frowned at each other. He wanted to delay painting? This had been his idea in the first place! Once again, David was silently elected info-gatherer. "What's that?"

"Get snacks!" He flicked his eyes to Emma, knowing full well that she was the one who would be most likely to agree.

And sure enough, she did. She couldn't sit at the kitchen table for the next couple of hours and not have something to much on. "Snacks are absolutely necessary," she grinned.

"Let's see what we can find in the kitchen," Snow sighed, giving an indulgent shake of her head to her perpetually hungry daughter and grandson.

Henry and her parents went off to raid the cabinets while Killian and Emma relocated to the table. As they settled, Killian reached for a set of paints and a brush. A little smile tugged at the corners of his mouth and his eyes sparkled with touched anticipation.

Emma's heart skipped a beat at how _at home_ he looked. "What is it?" she asked softly.

"It's been over a century and a half since I last held a paintbrush in my hand," he replied just as softly. "Liam had procured me a fantastic set of oils during a stopover in a faraway port. I'd almost used them up when we were sent on our voyage to Neverland. He told me he would get me a new set to replace the used one after we delivered our cargo to our King."

He let the story trail off then but Emma didn't need him to finish it. She could fill in the blanks herself; he'd never gotten that new set because Liam hadn't made it home from the trip. And something told her that her Killian, a man who'd held onto Baelfire's cutlass all those years, had never been able to use the remainder of the paints for fear of running out of the gift Liam had given him.

She placed her hand over his and gave him a gentle, sympathetic smile. After receiving a sad smile in return, Emma felt the need to lighten the mood a touch. She let the moment settle and then asked, "You can paint on a ship on the open ocean without messing it up?"

Killian blinked at her, stunned for a beat at the shift in conversation, and then chuckled. "You're forgetting that I learned to chart on the open ocean, lass. A stray line on a painting doesn't matter nearly as much as a stray line on a navigation chart, let me tell you."

And just like that, the light, teasing atmosphere was restored. Glad that she'd managed to get him to laugh after his sad remembrance, Emma smiled. "Point taken."

It was perfect timing, too, because they had barely a second between their shared chuckle and Henry's exclamation of, "We come bearing snacks!"

They certainly did. Henry was holding a plastic mixing bowl filled with white cheddar popcorn, David had a family-size bag of pretzels, and Snow was sneaking a stray chip off the top of another plastic mixing bowl filled with what Emma assumed were sour cream and onion chips.

A stunned Emma narrowed her eyes. It was a fairly decent spread, especially for the hour, but there was not a single sweet to be had. "What's with all the salty stuff?" she asked, quirking an eyebrow at her mother.

"Ask your son," Snow shrugged as she set the chips on the table. "He picked out the snacks."

Emma flicked the same questioning gaze to Henry. "I didn't realize until just now that it's all salty," he said with a shrug of his own. "I must be craving salt or something."

"You should get something to drink, lad," Killian spoke up, his tone serious. "Craving salt is a sign of mild dehydration."

"He's fine," Emma whispered to Killian with a pat of his shoulder and a roll of her eyes. Then she addressed Henry. "Would you mind grabbing the package of Oreos before you sit down?"

"Emma," Snow chided, clucking her tongue in mock disapproval of her daughter's sweet tooth.

"What? I want sweet, not salty."

"Yes, but those are the mint Oreos."

"Even better."

"It's just that you could demolish that entire package without breaking a sweat."

"And what, exactly, is wrong with that?"

David, who'd been watching the teasing back and forth between mother and daughter with amusement, offered, "I could make kettle corn."

"The Oreos are fine," Emma assured him. She glanced up at the clock and realized with a sigh that it had been twenty minutes since they'd agreed to Paint Night and they hadn't even opened the paints yet. Only in her family could the preparation for their chosen activity be so time-consuming.

In the end, Henry did indeed retrieve the mint Oreos (which were basically happiness in sandwich cookie form, as far as Emma was concerned) and plopped down at the table. Now, they could finally get down to business.

Or not. Killian squeezed a little puddle of deep blue paint onto his paper plate and frowned. "May I take a moment to experiment with the paint?" he asked.

"Of course," David said.

At first, Emma didn't understand why he needed to "experiment" with the paint at all. He probably had more experience with painting than everyone else in the room put together. But as she watched him pull another sheet of paper from the pad, dip his brush in the puddle of blue, and then swoop it across the paper, she realized that he'd never worked with acrylic paint before.

It did indeed only take him a moment to familiarize himself with the paint and how it went on the paper. After giving a barely noticeable nod of approval, he smiled somewhat nervously at his assembled students for the evening. "Are we ready to begin?"

"Ready as I'll ever be!" Henry quipped.

Everyone snickered. Emma glanced around at her family members and smiled. The fact that they all seemed so excited for this little evening of togetherness made her heart flutter in her chest.

She picked up her brush and, with Killian's lovely accented voice describing what to do, began painting a deep blue ocean. Every so often, she'd glance around at her family and smile. They appeared to be having a blast.

This clearly had been a fantastic idea. _Good job, Henry_ , she thought. Yeah, it was still cheese central but she supposed that sometimes cheese had its place.

A glance over at Killian told her that he'd relaxed immensely and had settled quite nicely into his new role as art instructor. He looked up, caught her eye, and smiled.

She smiled back and then winked, a little reminder of their promised activities once the art lesson had concluded.

After a quick glance around to make sure no one was watching them, Killian waggled his eyebrows at her, his own silent way of saying, "How could I forget?"

Emma grinned.


	3. Chapter 3

Although everyone had finished with their oceans, Emma couldn't help adding a few more little white swoops to hers to indicate small cresting waves. The blue she'd mixed for her sky had turned out a touch grayer than Killian's and she figured making her ocean look a little rougher would help offset the mistake.

Across from her, Henry also seemed to be having trouble. Since she was looking at his painting upside down, she couldn't tell what his issue was but the little frown on his face as he examined his work refused to budge.

Killian, too, must have noticed because he gently asked, "What's the matter, lad?"

"I think I'm having a perspective problem," Henry said as he turned his paper to Killian could take a critical look as well. "I feel like I'm closer to the island than everyone else is."

Killian glanced from Henry's painting to his in an effort to spot the differences. "It looks like you went a little bigger with your lines than I did. It's perfectly all right. When we add the trees in, just make those bigger as well. That way, the perspective will balance itself out."

Henry grinned a thank you, and Emma's heart did a little flip-flop in her chest. She honestly could sit there and watch her pirate and her kid bond all day. Killian was so good with Henry, and Henry quite clearly adored Killian and wanted to make him proud.

Emma set her brush in the cup of rinse water and sat back to allow her painting to dry, finally satisfied with her now slightly more angry ocean. Left now with nothing to do but wait, she couldn't help stealing peeks at everyone else's paintings.

Killan's was of course the master copy but it was interesting to see the spin the rest of her family had put on it. Due to her paint mixing error and subsequent course correction, hers now seemed a bit more ominous than Killian's serene view of the island. Killian's ocean was calm, his sky light blue and clear. Emma's sky appeared tinged with the darkness of an approaching storm and the more abundant waves gave the impression of a sea just beginning to rise with the winds.

Henry's picture did indeed look more like a close-up view of the island due to his aforementioned perspective issue. His sky was even lighter than Killian's, giving the impression of a ship approaching the island during the brightest point of a calm, clear day.

It was no surprise to Emma that her mother's painting was almost an exact copy of Killian's. The woman had taught elementary school for twenty-eight years. If anyone was going to be able to follow verbal directions precisely, it was Snow. The only difference was she had added a bit more white at the base of the island, giving the appearance of breaking waves crashing against the land.

What surprised Emma the most was that her father's was just as good as her mother's. His sky was a little darker, somewhere between Killian's and Emma's, but his ocean was calm and his island damn near perfect. Emma hadn't known that her father had any kind of artistic talent.

She watched with fascination as he expertly added a final crashing wave where the water met the land. Then he leaned back in his chair and regarded the painting as a whole with a critical eye. He gave a slight nod of satisfaction and then set his brush in the water to rinse.

Still in mild shock, Emma didn't look away. When David finally glanced up to see how everyone else was going, he caught his daughter staring at him in wonder. A touched smile split his face for a beat before morphing into a teasing smirk. "Busted."

Emma felt heat rushing to her cheeks. _Totally_ busted. "Yeah, well," she said, blinking as she tried to force herself back to the present, "I just didn't realize you could draw, too."

"There's not a lot for a young boy to do in the fields while the sheep are grazing," he explained, that teasing smirk of his settling into a gentle smile. "Either I took a sketchpad with me or I risked falling asleep against a bale of hay."

"I still can't believe you didn't carry a horn around with you," Henry sighed, shaking his head in mock disapproval. "And I still can't believe that none of your sheep ever followed you to school."

Everyone minus Killian chuckled. The poor pirate simply shot the kid a confused frown, clearly not understanding either of Henry's references.

"No, there was no horn," David confirmed, "but since the small corner of our cottage near the fireplace was my classroom, I suppose a case could be made that Lulabelle followed me to school."

Lulabelle was a favorite sheep of David's when he was a kid. Emma had heard all kinds of stories about Lulabelle, from the most likely true (she was born premature, cared for in the house until she was strong enough to join the other sheep outside, and bonded closely with a tiny little David during that time) to the patently ridiculous and quite obviously made-up (she ran back to the cottage to get David's mother when he sprained his ankle in the fields, like an Enchanted Forest version of _Lassie_ ).

"I knew it!" Henry exclaimed, a teasing smirk on his lips. "There's one more face put to a nursery rhyme character's name."

Judging by Killian's grin, he'd at least figured out that Henry was still trying to associate people in town with the characters in the stories of his childhood. "Dare I ask if this alter ego of the prince's is worse than my utterly ridiculous alter ego in this world?"

Emma had finally broken down and used her phone to pull up pictures of the Disney version of Captain Hook to show her Captain Hook. The poor pirate had been appropriately horrified, rendered completely speechless for a full fifty-four seconds. (Emma had counted while trying and not exactly succeeding to stifle her laughter.) Then he'd muttered something about blasphemy and desecration of his reputation before telling her he needed to find a way to cleanse this world of that terrible image. "Yeah, good luck with that," she'd chuckled before putting her phone away.

"Not exactly," a grinning Emma replied. "The nursery rhyme character Henry's talking about is a little schoolgirl named Mary."

"Obviously the names were changed to protect the innocent," Henry teased, giving a dismissive shrug.

"Obviously," Emma smiled.

By now, all five of them had set their brushes down and were waiting for their islands to dry before moving on to the next step. It took Emma a moment to remember how they'd gotten onto the subject of Lulabelle and Mary having a little lamb in the first place. Oh yeah, David bringing a sketchpad out into the fields with him to help pass the time.

And suddenly, maybe just because no one had ever really taken a special interest in hers, she really wanted to know how the rest of her family had come to hone or discover their artistic abilities. "What about you, Mom?" she asked after a moment. "Did you draw during your free time or did you have a structured art class?"

A touched Snow smiled at her baby girl. She glanced across the table at David, their eyes shining with love over their daughter's interest in their past, and then addressed Emma. "I had a structured art class. Pencil drawing, mostly. Miss Samantha would only allow me to use the paints on very rare occasions. She always had me do sketches as gifts for my parents on their birthdays."

Just like with David and Lulabelle, Emma had heard multiple stories of her mother's school life. Miss Samantha was a governess who'd lived in the castle. She held lessons for a young Snow in the mornings and early afternoons. Some of the lessons mirrored what Emma herself had learned in school: reading, writing, mathematics, history (though history of a different land, of course … Emma learned about the Civil War, her mom learned about the Ogre Wars). And then some of the lessons were not at all the lessons that were taught in this world's public school curriculum, lessons like dancing and etiquette.

It completely boggled Emma's mind to think that if Regina hadn't cast the Curse, her own schooling would have been the same as her mother's. She would have had one-on-one lessons with her own governess who would have taught her how to be a proper, educated princess.

"What kinds of things did you sketch?" Henry asked, bringing Emma back to the present.

"Things found in nature, mostly," Snow shrugged. "She'd have me do sketches after nature walks, drawings of this flower or that tree. The ones she'd have me do for my parents, though, were always whatever I wanted. The one I was most proud of was the one of the three of us sitting by the fountain in the courtyard. I was never very good at people or animals but I liked how that one turned out a lot."

Emma felt a little smile pulling at her lips. She was never very good at people or animals, either. A little thing, to be sure, but that little thing somehow inexplicably made her feel closer to her mother.

"What about you, Killian?" Snow asked, her voice soft and gentle. "Where did you learn to draw?"

Emma's heart fluttered in her chest as she looked over at Killian. It seemed like such a small thing, Snow continuing the conversation by bringing Killian into it, but they all knew it was much, much bigger than it seemed.

It was a way of forging their bond that much deeper, of filling in the little gaps of knowledge left by meeting someone as adults. It was a way of sharing their pasts to help pave the way for understanding and deeper connection in the future.

It was a way of welcoming Killian into the family, and from the touched expression on the pirate's face, he knew it. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he said, "My drawing began for reasons much like your husband's. When you're a lad on a ship full of sailors and you're too young to be put to work, there's not much to occupy your time. Drawing helped fill the lonely hours."

"Yes, it did," Emma said softly. "I used to lose myself in artwork, too. When I was little, I mean." She glanced around at her family and was encouraged by the anticipation on their faces. Talking about her past was still hard for both her and her parents but they absolutely ate up every little tidbit she was willing to share. "You're actually not going to believe this but one of my favorite things to draw was a castle. It was always the same, a big brown castle with turrets and a big gray drawbridge."

She used to pretend she lived in that castle, far away from the loneliness and the sadness. She used to pretend she was a princess and her parents were a king and queen who loved her more than life itself.

She'd had no idea how right she would have been had life not intervened.

As she got older, she first stopped drawing the castle and then stopped drawing altogether unless it was for art class in school. With no one to nurture any talent she may have shown – no drawings hung up on the fridge or taped up on a bedroom wall, no one to send her to extracurricular lessons to help her hone her artistic skill – it all had seemed kind of pointless.

She didn't voice any of that, though. She just let the story end there, leaving her parents with the image of their little princess drawing castles in an unconscious recognition of her birthright.

Killian had always been able to read her, though, and he knew the direction her thoughts had taken without her having to voice it. He reached under the table for her hand and squeezed, giving her as much physical comfort as he could without drawing attention to it.

Taking strength from his touch, Emma squeezed back. Then, after clearing her throat so she wouldn't sound choked up, she said, "How about you, Henry? Your talent can't just be from elementary school art class." She sent an apologetic glance to her mother. "No offense, Mom."

"None taken," a smiling Snow assured her.

In answer to his mother's question, Henry just shrugged. "I don't know. I never had any formal lessons or anything but I've always liked drawing and Mom encouraged it so I kept doing it."

"Your father liked to draw," Emma told him gently. His affinity for drawing was one more thing she'd discovered about Neal in Neverland. "You probably get it from him."

Henry smiled at her. "And you, you know. And Killian's an awesome teacher so I'm learning from him, too."

"He is indeed," Emma said with a smile at her pirate, who was now blushing and sheepishly scratching behind his ear.

"We're all learning from him," David said softly, making Killian's cheeks flush even darker and tears of gratitude prick at Emma's eyes. Her family was coming together, and it was absolutely wonderful to witness.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note:** Mama Snow and Daddy Charming feels abound. I'm not sorry. :)

* * *

Emma drew her brush away from her painting and stared at it for a moment. In keeping with the mood of the rest of her piece, she'd mixed her green a little bit darker than Killian's. Stately pines covered both their islands but where his evergreens were serene and welcoming, hers gave off a sense of foreboding.

It was crazy how a simple mistake and the course correction for that mistake could change the entire feel of a piece. She hadn't intended to create such a stormy version of what was supposed to be a peaceful scene but she was proud of it regardless.

As was Killian, apparently. When she looked up, she caught him regarding her painting with a little smile on his face. "That's wonderful, love," he murmured to her. "You've truly captured the appearance of a storm at sea just beginning to brew."

She smiled back. If anyone would be able to attest to the accuracy of her piece, it would be Killian. "Thanks." Completely satisfied now, she set her brush back into the rinse cup and sat back in her seat to let the painting dry.

Killian had stopped poking at his painting, obviously, and Snow had set her paintbrush down as well. David and Henry were still adding texture here and another tree there. Henry had even added little curved Vs in his sky to indicate sea birds flying in the distance.

They'd made quite the dent in the snacks. Some crumbs remained in the bowl of chips and there was still about half a bag of pretzels left. The popcorn was all gone, though, as were the Oreos. Out of her peripheral vision, Emma caught her mother checking on the state of the snacks as well … and shaking her head in defeated resignation.

Hey, the Oreos being gone wasn't completely Emma's fault this time. Apparently mint Oreos were Killian's new favorite junk food because he'd helped her decimate the package. "These little sandwich biscuits are ambrosia!" he'd murmured to her after she'd told him to try one.

Emma hadn't been able to stifle her amused snort. Only her pirate could make his approval of a snack sound like he was reading from the dictionary.

After a moment, Henry set his brush back in his cup to rinse. "I can't poke at it anymore," he said. "I'm afraid I'll ruin it."

Killian smiled at him. "You wouldn't ruin it, lad, but I know the feeling."

Since everyone seemed to be finished up – minus David, who was still fine-tuning the little details on his piece – Snow stood and grabbed the popcorn bowl in one hand and the empty Oreo package in the other. "Acrylics dry quickly so once everyone's done and the paintings are dry, I want to take a picture of us showing off the fruits of our labor."

Henry let out a teasing groan because heaven forbid a thirteen-year-old boy be asked to pose for a family picture without some kind of complaint, mock or otherwise. Emma and Killian, on the other hand, blinked up at Snow, and Emma was sure that the surprised and touched expression on Killian's face mirrored her own.

Emma had never been in a family picture before. Yeah, she had pictures with the members of her family and yeah, her parents had taken candid shots other people had taken of them and put them in frames but a posed family picture? Especially one showing off the results of a family activity? No, she'd never been in a family picture like that before.

Added to all that was the fact that Snow was including Killian in that family picture. Emma may not have had a family for almost three decades but Killian hadn't had one in a couple of _centuries_. She could tell from the slight blush on his cheeks and the small grateful smile on his lips that he was honored to be considered part of her family.

Snow gave both of them a gentle smile before heading into the kitchen to start cleaning up the remnants of their family evening snacking.

"I'll get the camera," Henry said as he pushed himself to his feet. He was the only one who had a fancy digital camera; Emma had given her parents an old point-and-shoot model of hers when Neal was born since she just used her phone now.

Henry had disappeared up the stairs when David finally set down his paintbrush; he was apparently as pleased as he was going to be with his painting. "I could sit here and adjust things for hours and still feel like I'm not finished with it," he said, a small frown pulling at his lips.

"I know that feeling as well," Killian said with an understanding nod. David graced the pirate with a smile, causing Emma to blink and wonder if she'd accidentally fallen asleep on the sofa with Killian earlier and was dreaming this whole evening.

Killian looked surprised as well but didn't draw attention to the gesture. Instead, he started to pack up the paints only to stop when Snow gently spoke up. "No, don't put them away. I don't know about everyone else but I'd like to stay at the table and work on another piece."

Once again, Emma and Killian exchanged a surprised glance. Henry bounded down the stairs then, camera in hand and excited grin on his face. "All right, free art period!"

"I'm up for it if you two are," David agreed, looking first at Killian and then at Emma.

Well, then. It seemed that her family had decided that although the art lesson was over, family time didn't need to be. "Works for me," Emma said, unable to stifle the grateful smile on her lips.

"Aye," Killian added after clearing his throat and swallowing the emotion that had welled within him. "Me as well."

David and Snow shared a smile over everyone's heads. Then, as Snow and Emma cleaned up the snacks and Henry set up the camera for picture time, David and Killian carried the cups of rinse water to the sink dump and refill for the free paint session. They carried the freshly refilled cups back to the table, where Killian gathered the used paper plates to toss and David set out fresh sheets of paper and more plates.

"Camera's ready!" Henry called after a moment.

"Good timing because the paintings should be dry by now, too," Snow said, smiling at her family.

Sure enough, they were, so everyone grabbed their pieces and headed into the living room. Henry had set the camera up facing the couch so they gathered in front of it, Killian and Emma on the left and Snow and David on the right. Once everyone was in position, Henry set the timer and dashed forward, squeezing himself into the middle of the group between Killian and David.

"Everyone hold up your pictures and say cheese!" Snow said as the blinking light on the camera counted down the seconds until the snap of the shutter.

Only Henry actually said cheese but the picture must have come out to Snow's liking because after the flash went off and Snow checked the camera, she told everyone they were all set. "I want to see!" Henry exclaimed, jogging the couple of steps over to Snow and the camera.

Emma wanted to see, too, so she followed her kid and peeked over his shoulder at the camera's display. It was a lovely picture with everyone proudly holding up their paintings. Her parents' eyes were shining with love and hers and Killian's eyes were shining with emotion.

Snow gently smiled at Emma, ran the pad of her thumb over Emma's cheek in a quick motherly gesture, and then addressed the rest of the family. "Could I please take everyone's paintings? I'll go out tomorrow to get some frames but I have an idea of where we can store them for now."

From the expression on David's face as he handed over his painting, he knew exactly what he was wife planned to do. Killian shot a perplexed look at Emma, who shrugged in response. Still, they both handed their paintings over, as did Henry.

With a gentle smile at her family, Snow walked over to the refrigerator and hung the artwork up with magnets.

The emotion that had been burgeoning within Emma rose to fever pitch. Something stirred in her heart, a confusing combination of pride and injustice, of intense joy and overwhelming sadness. The tears pricked her eyes before she could stop them and she needed to go, needed to get away, needed to be alone. Just for a minute, just long enough to get her emotions back under control. "I'll be right back," she choked out and, before anyone could stop her, darted up the metal staircase to the loft.

A year or so ago, such a sudden disappearance would have left her parents with no idea what step to take next. A year or so ago, her own walls and guards would have left her parents no real recourse but to wait her out. But that was a year or so ago.

Now, within seconds of her escape to the loft, she heard two sets of soft footsteps following her. One set of footfalls was heavier than the other, and there was no doubt in Emma's mind to whom both sets belonged.

And she was grateful and relieved when sure enough, her parents rounded the corner and peered at her in concern, identical looks of worry on their faces.

She sank down on the bed and they sat down with her, Snow on her right and David on her left. "Emma, baby, are you all right?" Snow asked gently.

"Yeah," she said, sniffling back her tears. Letting them know why she'd darted up here would only hurt them because it was one of those things in her past. One of those things she should have had but didn't and made her parents feel guilty because she didn't.

"You don't look like you're all right," David said, his tone just as gentle as his wife's. "And I really think it would help if you talked about it."

She looked up at her dad, into his eyes, and saw nothing but sincerity and love. That same sincerity and love were swimming in her mother's eyes and she realized that it was okay to let them know what was on her mind, even if it ended up making them sad, too. Because they were her parents and they loved her. Because they wanted to help heal the wounds of her past and wounds couldn't heal if they were left to fester.

And so she took a deep breath in and said, "It's just that … no one's ever put something I made up on the refrigerator before."

Pain flashed in their eyes as her words registered. Their little girl had never been celebrated. Their little girl had never been encourage. No one had ever shown her that they were proud of her. No one had made her feel special or talented by displaying the fruits of her creative labor where everyone could see.

And then the expressions on their faces changed. Gone was the anguish, the despair over the life their little girl had lived and in their place were sheer love and steely resolve. They couldn't change the past but they could help heal the past's wounds in the present. As on, her parents wrapped her in a tight hug, an effort to give her all the love and comfort she'd never had.

Emma allowed the tears to come. Tears for the little girl who didn't matter and didn't think she ever would. Tears for the little girl who'd gone through life existing but not living, trying to give love but never having that love reciprocated, trying to be noticed only to have no one notice her.

"Let it out, sweetheart," Snow was murmuring into her ear. "Let it out."

And let it out she did, for a solid five minutes. Slowly, she began to calm down. "I'm sorry," Emma whispered when her tears had dwindled to sniffles.

"No, don't be sorry," David said. "We're the ones who are sorry, kiddo. You should have been so very loved and so very cherished, and we're so sorry that you weren't."

She fidgeted in her parents' arms, prompting them to release their hold on her. She sniffled and looked first at Snow and then at David. "You shouldn't be sorry, either. I know you sent me here out of love for me. You did the only thing you could do to _save_ me. And anyway, I'm loved and cherished now. That's what matters."

Snow dried her little girl's tears with her thumbs and cupped her cheek in her palm. Her eyes were shining with her own tears but the smile she gave her baby girl was full of love and compassion and pride. "You're more loved and more cherished than you could possibly imagine, Emma Swan."

David pressed a kiss to the side of her head. "Loved and cherished always."

And as she sat in her parents' loving embrace, Emma finally allowed herself to believe it.


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note:** We've come to another end. Thank you for all the follows and favorites and lovely reviews! Y'all are the best. Also, the end of this story is ridiculously cheesy, even for me, but I couldn't help myself. I'd apologize for any feels it may give you but once again, I think we all know by now that I'm never sorry. ;)

* * *

There was something about sitting on her bed, flanked by her parents, that made Emma feel remarkably safe. Remarkably secure. _This is how it should have been_ , she thought as she basked in the comfort their arms gave her. _This is what I should have had_.

This was safety and security and stability, all things she should have had from birth. She should have had her parents' love and her parents' comfort and her parents' support. She should have had so much. She should have had _everything._

She knew she should get up. Henry and Killian were probably worried. She'd darted up here so fast and her parents had followed right on her heels. And though it was probably only about ten minutes, she felt like the three of them had been sitting together for an awfully long time. But the little girl who still resided within her, the lost little girl who'd never had this kind of comfort and safety and security, didn't want to give it up. She was reveling in it, basking in it, taking in as much of it as she could like a thirsty traveler who'd found an oasis in the desert.

And so Emma stayed. She let her parents hold her and comfort her a few more minutes until her independent adult side finally wrested control back from the lost little girl.

When she fidgeted, Snow and David both let her go. They smiled at her, tear tracks of their own running down their cheeks. "You all right now, kiddo?" David softly asked as he brushed his thumb along his daughter's cheeks to dry the rest of her tears.

"Yeah," she said, giving him a smile in return. "Thank you both for following me."

"You're very welcome, sweetheart," Snow replied warmly.

And under their warm and still comforting gazes, Emma began to feel a little foolish for having run off in the first place. She didn't have to handle everything alone anymore, and it was clear now that even if she tried, her parents wouldn't let her. They would follow her and do whatever they could to help her, whether that was offering reassurance, assistance, or simply an ear and a shoulder to cry on.

The lonely little girl felt more loved than she had ever felt before and the independent adult was touched by and immensely grateful for the support. Maybe it was time to stop trying to deal with everything on her own. Maybe it was time to stop trying to lick her wounds and private and maybe it was time to let her family offer her the support she both needed and wanted.

And her family included not only her parents sitting on either side of her but also her kid and her pirate sitting downstairs, more than likely concerned for her. So even though she was a hundred percent positive that her eyes were rimmed in red and that her tear tracks still stained her cheeks, she stood up from the bed and held her hands out to her parents. "Let's go back downstairs," she said, a shy little smile gracing her lips.

David and Snow shot her identical warm smiles and grasped her hands in theirs. Then Snow reached up and brushed her thumb over Emma's cheeks, drying the last of her tears.

As the three of them descended the metal stairs, Emma caught her not-as-stealthy-as-they-seemed-to-think boys whipping around in their chairs to face the table and pretending that they were completely absorbed in their just-started art projects. They'd obviously been trying to eavesdrop on the conversation happening above them but Emma didn't belabor the point. They hadn't been nosy, just concerned, and though she hated that she'd made them worry, she realized that it was really nice to have people who loved her enough to worry about her.

Much better than being a little girl who didn't matter and didn't think she ever would.

"So, free art period, huh?" Emma asked as she reclaimed her seat at the table. "I was never very good at just painting whatever."

Snow and David also joined everyone at the table as Henry and Killian exchanged a concerned glance. Though Henry clearly want to ask Emma if she was all right, he gave her a smile and instead pointed out, "You know, you could always paint that castle you said you used to draw."

Out of the corner of her eye, Emma saw the anticipation shining in her parents' eyes at the thought of seeing the subject of some of their little girl's childhood artwork, even if it was a couple decades too late. It was a ridiculously cheesy idea but it was also ridiculously touching and Emma found, to her surprise, that she _wanted_ to show her parents what she used to draw as a child. "That's a great idea, kid," Emma smiled. "Sappy as all get-out but great."

Henry beamed at her before turning back to his own painting, which seemed to be of some kind of waterfall in the woods.

Everyone got down to work. Everyone except Killian, who reached for Emma's hand under the table. She looked up at him, her questioning frown fading when she spotted the sheer concern swimming in his eyes.

"I'm all right," she assured him in response to his silent question. "I just got a little … overwhelmed."

Though he nodded at the reassurance that she was okay, he couldn't quite hide the bewilderment in his eyes. Before she could explain what had sent her running up the stairs, Henry's eyes lit up in realization. "Hanging a kid's artwork on the fridge is basically the highest form of praise a parent can give," he said softly.

Sudden understanding flooded Killian's features, and all at once, Emma knew. She knew that he'd figured out that Snow hanging their paintings on the refrigerator was the first time any of Emma's artwork had ever graced a fridge. As was typical of him, though, he didn't dwell on it. With a glance up at her parents, he simply smiled and said, "I must say, then, that I am honored to have my painting displayed among such incredible talent."

Emma chuckled and gave a slight roll of her eyes. Her Killian may have spent a couple centuries as a fearsome pirate but he also had quite the dorky side.

It was ridiculously endearing.

Soon enough, everyone focused on their paintings. David's depicted a pasture on a calm day. Snow's was of a fountain in a courtyard, ringed on all four sides with stone benches. Killian's was another ocean scene, this one of a ship battling a stormy sea. Henry's waterfall was beginning to really take shape.

Emma closed her eyes, let out a deep breath, and called up the mental image of the castle she used to draw as a kid. She painted from that memory, the regal castle taking shape against another stormy gray sky. It was clearly better rendered now in her more practiced hand but it still evoked the same air of fantasy as it had when she was little.

Or maybe not fantasy. As the castle began to come together, Emma realized that it was familiar. Not familiar because she'd drawn it a hundred times as a kid. Familiar because she'd _been_ there.

She'd seen this castle, she'd walked within its walls. It had been crumbling then, destroyed by time and a Curse. But there was no doubt in her mind that this was her parents' castle in the Enchanted Forest, the one that should have been her home. Her home with her family.

The rational side of her kept insisting that she was remembering her childhood drawing wrong. That she'd simply conflated the two castles in her head. Deep down, though, she knew she wasn't remembering wrong. The castle she'd drawn hundreds of times over as a kid was a dead ringer for the one that should have been her childhood home.

A soft gasp from beside her drew her out of her own shocked reverie. Both of her parents were staring at her painting, their eyes wide with both surprise and nostalgia. "Emma, that's … that's our castle!" Snow breathed.

"I thought you were going to paint the one you used to draw as a child," David murmured when he found his voice.

"This is going to sound crazy," Emma said, blinking her own surprise at her parents, "but I _am_ painting the castle I used to draw as a kid."

Everyone, Henry and Killian included, stopped their work and stared at Emma's painting. Killian was the one who broke the shocked silence. "Perhaps on some level, a level you didn't even realize at the time, you were connected to your parents after all, love."

Could she really have had some kind of unconscious connection with her parents back then, a connection that manifested itself as a fantasy drawing? It seemed _impossible_ but then again, stranger things had happened.

"Yeah, maybe," she said, smiling at her parents.

They both got up and wrapped her in a tight, loving hug. "We love you, sweetheart," Snow murmured into her ear.

"We always have," David added.

"I love you, too," Emma whispered back. "Always have and always will."


End file.
